


strip club

by Bad_Monkey_in_the_Night



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-08-03 05:37:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16320115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bad_Monkey_in_the_Night/pseuds/Bad_Monkey_in_the_Night
Summary: Vegeta is too busy winning the war with another huge company to care for earthly distractions. And yet we find him escape his life and the lonelyness of his appartment to a stripclub of all places.He doesn't know what he's getting himself into, nor that what he finds there will turn his life upside down.





	strip club

**Author's Note:**

> Hello lovely readers, thank you very much for your patience with me sorting out the layout. I'm glad some of you liked it so far!  
> This will be an ongoing multi-chapter story. More content is already in draft.  
> I recently made the change of adding some songs. In the end though, expectations and image of a story differ wildly in this world of ours, so why not use ur own style of music to add to the scene? Or don't. Read it how you like it. 
> 
> This AU and fic is inspired by and based on the amazing Nala1588's " Private show " ( found on her patreon!!) with friendly permission.  
> \- now enjoy!

It's nighttime in West City.

The slender umbrage of palmtrees that line avenues and boulevards stir softly in the warm winds coming from the ocean.

A single motorbike finds it's way through the metropolitan traffic to turn onto a less frequented side street, where buoyant flashing neonlight mermaids and cheerful fish point towards the entrance of what could only be described as the city's most sought after strip club, the infamous ~river club~ .

 

_~ there's plenty of fish in the sea, but the river club girls will make you fall to your knee ~_

 

[    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eS_korRhTDk    ]

Muffled but persistant beats leak into the night, carrying the allurement of it's promises.

Vegeta sports his deep frown with more chagrin than usual, his impending lapse in mind, as he parks the black kawasaki ninja in the shadow of the backstreet layby. He scoffes uneasy as he turnes towards the large building.

Nothing about a strip club was dignified. Or pleasable. He most likely was wasting his time.

 

Yet here he stood, following a petty inspiration planted by that moron Yamcha of all people.

He already regretted listening to him in the first place, let alone spending the gas to get here.

 

Vegeta's overall condition of high aspirations came with money, and the knowledge that he was the best of the best, certainly too good for this city alltogether.

After he had pushed himself from the deepest mud of this beastly town and higher day by day, he had a point to make.

He took most enjoyment in his life from getting to rub it in the faces of a long list of pretentious assholes what a real genius is made of.

It's made of Vegeta. And it's stock was rising higher still.

Frankly life wasn't bad from the privacy of his penthouse, overlooking city and ocean.

He'd lean against the windowed walls high above the ravel, sometimes, and picture what it would be like to be free.

Then he'd turn up the noise and work out until it all became a distant blur.

 

Vegeta had few regrets. Being single wasn't one of them.

Looking and being untouchable was something the prince of West City's business elite was second to none. Vegeta didn't _need_ anything beyond shot-lived abandon.

He had neither time nor nerve to dally away on romantic dinners or random hookups.

Women simply didn't fit on his agenda, not for more than fleeting moments. Maybe due to the lack of females that enticed him, truly enticed him. Vegeta didn't want to explore that, really.

For the most part of his life his focus was all that kept him afloat, and it has proven the recipe for his success.

Yet, try as he might he could no longer deny it – sexual gratification did not grow on these money trees. It shunned a man with standards and a personality so closed off it could keep in

a nuclear explosion. That was even more true since Nou & Son became Nou International.

Add to that how the women that occasionally passed through his bed hardly ever _wanted_ to stay and you have yourself a bad case of rock bottom in the private life of Vegeta Nou. He'd never admit it, but he felt it's sting nonetheless.

He needed some indulgence, to tell him it was not that bad, that it was all worth it.

 

Vegeta hated that what he was about to do was putting him so on edge. What was a strip club visit to the week he had had? It made no sense.

And he didn't expect much to come of this either. If anything, it would be a minor distraction, nothing more.

And maybe it would shut up his brazen subordinates with their shit talk about his lack of female proximity for a while.

 

With a final glance to his bike he swiftly makes his way across the parking lot to the main entrance.

 

_Let's get this over with._

 

* * *

 

 

 

„ _I'm telling you, Boss,it's not that kind of establishment. I have been there a few times and boy, do i want to cry everytime!“_

„ _I 'm inclined to believe that. I can only pitty you, Yamcha. Watching some harlot in her underwear is propably as far as you'll ever get.“_

_His assistant of course got farther than this, with quite a few women, too. He was a philanderer._

_Vegeta really was in no place to talk._

_Still he wanted to erupt with wrath when a pity laugh was all the answer he got from Yamcha._

_It reeked of office gossip and -much more hurtful to his pride- knowing better from too many of these talks._

_He downed the rest of his coffee and with it the urge to beat the shit out of someone. Grabbing his coat he beelined towards the exit of their regular lunch spot._

„ _Holy Sh-“ Vegeta snapped around as Yamcha stood to follow but suddenly seemed glued to the ground like a monolit made of disappointment._

„ _What?!“ Vegeta followed the younger man's stare in suspicion. Nothing noteworthy to be found._

_Only the queue. Mostly businessmen frequenters, like them. A few more casually dressed walking customers. His eyes came to a halt and lingered on the figure that looked most out of place - more precisely, Vegeta stared at the derrière of a viridian haired woman with headphones and a blue bomber jacket._

_Before he realised what he was doing he glowered at Yamcha again, who had woken from his rigor._

„ _That's her, Boss. I mean, that's one of the girls from the ~river club~.“_

_Vegeta rolled his eyes with a lackadaisical huff._

„ _Great. Well if you don't want to go over and fraternize i suggest you get your ass back in the office and work for your money.“_

_And with those words he was through the door, not looking behind._

_Reluctantly, Yamcha followed suit, but not without looking back, hoping to catch the eyes of his favourite stripper. B.B. Sweettooth._

_What he wouldn't give for her to go out with him. Such a fine piece of a woman..._

 

* * *

 

 

 

Once seated at the far end of an extensivly stocked oval bar in the more shadowy part of the club, Vegeta reclined into his suprisingly sleek Bourbon Sour with slightly more keenness than he'd felt before, and took to exploring the atmosphere.

 

It was a cliché setting, really, anachronistic and modern elements blended together to mark the timelessness of of it's purpose – a getaway from consequential pursuit.

Though he had to admit, the decor and chic of the place was not as shabby as expected. He guessed it was ..adequate.

The bar overlooked a number of open booths, each surrounded by seats of red velvet cushion with the pole as its center. Lavish red drapes covered the walls and enveloped some of the separées.

The lighting was as neon and distracting as they get. In sometimes pinkish, sometimes bluish tones the stages would illuminate to fuel their otherworldly purpose.

 

On a large stage in the back, the oldest DJ in the known universe clearly had the time of his life changing records and stealing glances, while taking the occasional request from customers.

The man had the appearance of a bearded dying turtle on anabolic steroids mixed with speed.

Vegeta didn't know what was more odd, how out of place the old man was in this setting, or how right he made it feel. If his grin was any indication, his sunglassses mainly served hiding just how much he enjoyed the view he had.

The club was littered with waitresses, lapdancers, poledancers – each of them an exotic variety of their own, and none of them leaving much to the imagination.

Behind Vegeta, the tall and strapping barman poured drinks, cleaned dishes, and exchanged winks or small talk with the mostly female staff that walked by as the evening progressed.

 

Vegeta was into his third glass of Bourbon, yet still not on board with the notion he'd find any kind of betterment in a strip club.

If he was being honest with himself, he did not know what kind of secret ingredient he was looking for. Apparently the mere sight of promiscuous women clad in thrilling lingerie didn't do much to him – it has been the same with most porn lately. Nada.

He scoffed into his drink in dismay.

With the strong need to kill off any further reflections on how he'd become so cut off from his own cock, Vegeta let his mind wander to the only thing that mattered in his life right now - the buzzing and everchanging numbers of the free market and his ongoing quest to tame that numeric beast.

It was fed with deceit, and drank the tears of small fry. It breathed war by notes.

Vegeta was fighting that war at his own angle, and as the brilliant tactician he was, he kept his guns ready at all times and his enemies close.

Vegeta's work had a sole and solemn purpose. His war was one of rebellion. He'd live to watch Frieza Enterprise turn to smoke.

As he let his thoughts wander to that blissful moment in the not so far away future, a small smirk hit his features like a singular occurance.

With the silver lining of his plan in mind, Vegeta's deep black eyes glared callously over the dancers that bend and arched, slid and twisted their way towards the waving bills.

He straightened his glasses as cigarette smoke rolled over his tongue.

He usually didn't smoke. But it were nights like these, after sleepless, jam-packed weeks, that he granted himself the transgression without care.

Looking out for anything- or anyone- that'd stand out to him, the surrounding groups of cheering and all-stages-of-drunk customers became mere background noise as the dancers moved in rhythm with the music. A synchronised display of fervor without address.

 [    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SEptMnVlsJY     ]

Something hidden and vehement came to surface as Vegeta's eyes fixed on one of the poledancers.

He hadn't noticed her before. Maybe she'd just started to dance.

There was something in the way she grabbed that pole that matched the moodiness of his overworked mind.

She seemed oddly relaxed while dancing, the way she swung her legs and hips on the other hand implied her complete control over the performance.

Her viridan curls were unruly, and she had that kind of smile that played nice yet was all cheeky underneath while she danced.

Her curves made a point of being more characteristic than those of other dancers, he noted.

She was no vanilla shape. She wasn't off-putting either. And Vegeta couldn't stop himself from wandering over her moving silhouette with widened eyes.

The vibrant red of her..outfit.. was a stark contrast to her own colouring, yet it made it all the more expressive. It was irritating.

He found himself unable to dismiss his sudden peak of interest as trivial – after all, his whole point of coming here was to find relief, resetting, recallibration

or whatever shortlived rest at the ministry of a woman he could find.

Still, Vegeta knew that loosing his grip over some feminin charms, especially a stripper's, wouldn't do. He gazed into space, and the red flags declaring his folly waved somewhere in the distance.

But he didn't see them. Red there was, from stocking to choker, and like a yarn it pulled him in.

Vegeta realised his mind was already set on seeing the woman up close.

Seeing her dance for him even might make his reeling mind come to rest for a while.

There was no need to socialize with her, he could very well uphold the illusion that she was an enticing stranger, not bound to the rules and confinements of this place, by simply keeping it shut and his eyes on her appearance. What would he talk about, anyway? How much he despised his new intern? That the reason his father left him startled him awake at night?

Surely, in a place like this, Vegeta had more containment than that.

However, having his mind made up he realised fraternizing with the wretched clientel in pursuit of a piece of bra or panties coming off was of course out of the question. It would never happen.

 

Vegeta turned around to the bartender. The man with the long dark ponytail was humming an innocent tune while his eyes meticulously pried through the crowd, awaiting missteps any time - prepared to end them there and then.

His gaze found Vegeta's as he picked up a drying cloth.

 

„Another drink, good sir?“

Vegeta briefly shook his head „Not now. That dancer on the left, the one with the green hair, is it possible to get a ..private dance?“

The barman know as Raditz was bubbling in conversational tone. „Oh, you mean B.B. Sweettooth, right? She's up for private dances, yeah. Does them quite a lot, actually. She's a sweet little secret, that one.“

The barkeeper grinned to himself.

From the corner of his eye Vegeta searched for the island where B.B.Sweettooth moved with lazy elegance. The name was adding to the image, frankly, ridiculously jarring and compelling at the same time.

On a dry note Vegeta couldn't help but wonder excactly what sort of sweets she was after, working here.

 

„But don't let that smile of hers go to your head. If a customer, that includes you, lays hands on one of the girls without her explicit permission, you'll be banned from our soil permanently.

In an uncomfortable manner i might add. Just a headsup.“

He laughed good-naturedly at his last words while he flexed his impressive physique to either make a point or merely stretch his tired bones.

 

Vegeta doubted the man could gain an upper hand against him in one on one.

His advantage wasn't brute strenght - Vegeta's assets were his tactical mind in all things and his hardened strenght of will- he'd take any punch thrown at him and still stand his ground.

He had had practice in this particular trait for many years, in a very literal sense.

But Vegeta Nou was a certified control freak. Hell would freeze over before he'd cause a brawl in a strip club of all places.

„What's the usual price? I suppose there are averages?“ He prompted with a rasp, realiszing too late that he just had given himself away as a man that did not know his way around stripclubs.

„It depends on you really. Everything above 80quid is tip that remains with the dancer- for a topless with no touching. It's double if the dancer is willing to go fully nude. And, as i said before, touching is always- ALWAYS- in the hands of the dancer. The more they let you in on the action the more you should let them get out of it in return, if you catch my drift..“

Vegeta receive a pregnant glare.

„You seem like a reasonable enough man, but we occasionally have some customers that just won't see that our girls are not their playthings.

They're the artists- and the art here is erotic dance. It is no accident that the ~river club~ is so well received.

We're a respectable stripclub and night bar, a place to come home to in these turbulent times.“

The barkeeper seemed positively proud of the place, and his colleagues. Fair enough.

Vegeta was proud of his company, too. He wasn't quite as proud of his staff, though, but that might be because he knew he worked harder than all of them.

It was almost as if Vegeta had a heart for insolent blockheads, which he really didn't.

„However, if you want a private show, i suggest you talk to her right after this dance, or else another eager customer might steal her from under your nose

and you would have to wait for another hour or two. Most guests want more than one dance, ya know?“

Vegeta scowled at the taller man behind the counter in disbelief. An hour was way too long for any kind of dance... What did you do for such a long time if not excactly

what soi disant wasn't ever happening in this renowned house of ~erotic dance~? He didn't buy that there were no digressions when money was to be made, no matter how devout the bartender wanted to believe otherwise.

 

When he turned, his eyes fixed on the woman again, not missing that her dance was coming to an end, and he really couldn't make himself divert from this bad idea.

Who knew he'd walk into a strip club and actually want something out of it?

Like a private show.

Vegeta stretched his shoulders and stood up. As he grabbed for his cigarettes, and with it his composure, he gave the other man a curd nod of approval, who in return smiled knowingly back at him.

_What was it with this guy?_

 

Vegeta felt the beat vibrate though his body as he made his way down into the crowd.

He took a greedy drag from a newly lit cigarette.

Right away it filled him with hot lingering content and boosted the effect of high percentage alcohol, as he pushed though cheering and hooting low-lifes, some of them wearing the same expensive suits as him. Did he care though?

Producing a thick wad of notes into his hand from the pocket of his coat, Vegeta was almost puzzled at how calm he felt.

He'd get himself some private time with a random stripper at a random bar and wouldn't think twice about it.

 

Tonight seemed to smile upon him, for as he came to a halt and made eye-contact with the stripper known as B.B. Sweettooth, she looked at him with flashing blue eyes, and her chin raised to the side in a question.

 

_Do you want me to dance for you?_

 

Yes.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Bulma led him to one of the secluded rooms upstairs. He was a handsome man, she noted.

With a more than healthy body under his neat suit, and nice hair. And he looked important, the way he carried himself. There was a seriousness in his face that was oddly endearing.

She hadn't seen him here before. Maybe a new customer? She'd give him something to come back to if that was the case.

 

She'd asked him if he enjoyed the club, to which she only got a raspy mumble. Though it didn't go unnoticed that his voice was ..rich. Like he'd save it up for rare moments, granting the right to listen to it's true richness to only a chosen few.

In the same way he narrowed his brows.

He obscured himself. Maybe this wasn't his usual diversion.

With new customers, you never knew what they liked, or how far they wanted to go. Most were enthusiastic to tell you, though. Or show you.

Bulma laid clear boundaries –sometimes with the back of her hand, or a neatly placed kick. And so far, it worked.

There had been only one mishap she had to call a bouncer for a while back.

If the guy hadn't turned out such an asshole she actually would have taken the blame. She had been awfully teasing.

It was her weakness - and maybe the true reason she liked to work here, inter alia.

 

With this one, however, she had a feeling he wasn't here to talk, or tell her what he liked.

Which was alright. Bulma liked to improvise.

Bulma knew one thing - a private striptease wasn't about sexy imagery.

It always was about _coming undone_.

Sometimes that ment listening patiently to a sobbing husband, sometimes that ment to talk a clients ear off to deliver him from his own mind.

Sometimes words were in the way.

 

In the privacy of her mind, Bulma liked those moments best.

Where she could retract into her own world of needs and wants, and still be enough to give someone absolution from reality. It made for a highly potent cocktail of mutual abandon.

A sultry symbiosis between strangers.

 

She'd choose something slow and sweet for his first dance, Bulma decided, and see what would happen.

 

* * *

 

Vegeta took a deep breath as the door closed behind him.

He realised her nearness, clad in little more than a few inches of screaming fabric and ribbons, did something to him. It's been quite a while since a woman has touched him with intend.

He felt his pulse quicken at her hand faintly against his back.

She said something, but he merely heard a hum, melodic and soft. He nodded.

Dirty negotiations and an ESA inquiry had him feeling on edge all week and his usual solution of an iron training regime didn't quite quell the strain this time

\- yet somehow, all that seemed to drift to the back of his mind in this moment.

 

Now that he leaned back into the red velour seat in the private showroom of a stripclub in downtown West City, these uncharted waters held a bewildering fascination and

prospect of betterment he was willing to explore, the warm fuzz of high percentage alcohol working it's spell. The room, or perhaps the woman, smelled oddly familar of kiho incence,

and Vegeta realised it added to his heady condition.

 

Watching the woman pour him another drink and place it by his side with a small smirk Vegeta sported a cool look of indifference.

But in the privacy of his mind, B.B. was already winning him over.

 

Whatever was in store for him at the hands of this woman, he decided, he'd pay her generously.

 

The lonesome, foolish CEO of NOU International lit another cigarette.

 

Then the music started. And with it his impasse.

 

* * *

 [    https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4XBAwNkxqQ8   ]

 

„Do you want a full display?“ Bulma chirps with a smokey voice.

 

 

She looks at him as her barely covered form draws nearer, ocean blue eyes drifting over him.

There was no denying he was a handsome man – his sharp features so solitary, closed off.

 

She's feeling overly receptive tonight, Bulma realises as she turns towards the dark haired business man. For she gets exceedingly aroused by his cool and scrutinizing stare.

It could stab her, freeze her, reject her, devour her, save her.

He's giving her no sign of what it will be, if not all of it. He's giving no ground in this dance.

She would have to come and get it on her own.

And it was hotter than anything Bulma had come across in this nightclub.

 

Excitment surges through her and makes her head go light.

When her hands begin travelling down her silhouette in dragging touch, it is with selfish intent.

The stranger before her might not know it, but he's giving her a private show of his own.

 

 

„Does it matter?“ He husks.

 

Vegeta doesn't intend to sound sore. His left eye twitches nervously.

The way in which her hands roam her own skin, it makes him realise how close she is.

How close her almost naked body is to press against his.

How easy it would be to turn a private dance into something bolder.

 

The red stockings held by ribbons would be the only thing he'd let her wear.

 

 

Bulma's answer is an enigmatic smile.

 

With darkening eyes, she stands over the stranger.

Touching his knee.

Touching his shoulder.

 

Slowly, she turns her back on him, her swaying hips draw in the slow dragging beat of the song.

She feels the beat possess her body. She arches, arms playfully falling behind her back, her fingers curling lightly though her hair.

She can smell his aftershave, can smell him. It feels exquisite to be near a man that smells so good.

Her hands roam up her thighs and over her naked softness, play with the frill of her underwear. With her back to him, she could almost imagine it were his hands that playfully skim over her.

 

She wants to let him know by sighing, but remains still.

It would disturb the dance.

Instead she throws her head to the side at the break of a beat, blue gazing eyes travel across his sharp face from the side.

Her thighs vibrate to the rhythm as she slowly squats down, seating herself onto him.

 

She feels his muscles through the fabric, emenating body heat. Hardened legs, as though not at all disturbed by her intrusion. But she can tell he's tensing up.

He doesn't touch her, his hands are keeping away more in confinement than surrender.

 

Not knowing how not to, she ground her ass against his strong thighs, closing in inch by inch on his crotch.

 

Vegeta on the other hand, did not take well as she snatched the uncivil cigarette from his hand while she moved. She could practically sense his eyes darken.

Feeling adventourus with her private stranger, she's cheeky enough to grab him by his tie.

She hears him gasp. And chuckles at such revelation.

 

After taking a drag, the cigarette has to go. Into his drink. He stiffens even more.

Bulma needs a mere second to turn around and face him.

Her gaze fixes on heavy obsidian eyes.

She watches him closely as his tie lands betweens her teeth, and smirks as devils do. She needs her hands for more important matters.

 

A surge of excitement bolts through him.

Vegeta cannot look away, as she literaly holds him on a leash to grasp behind with slender hands and undoes what little fabric there was between him and her breasts.

Raking her rounded rich bust towards him she lets her bra fall to the ground.

And pulls away..

 

Vegeta does not know why, but his eyes are searching her like he was something other than a customer.

Her body against him has his heartbeat quickened. The music, his heady state, the way she moves like a woman would solely move for him,

it comes down to this moment as she let's go of his tie and leans away.

 

As if to break a spell – or cast it.

 

He tilts her face up, his tension forming resolution. He finds her face very pretty with that cheeky temper turning to surprise. Though that was not the point.

She's intimate, in the way she moves for him.. and Vegeta likes that. He suddenly remembers that he takes what he likes.

B.B. lets his left hand travel from her face onto her hip.

Vegeta's mouth wants to open, maybe to drag his tongue across her skin.

He adds his right hand to the small of her back. And pulls her onto him.

 

 

Bulmas breath hitches softly.

 

Giving him control like this usally wouldn't happen. But she enjoys this closed off mans touch just as much as she wants him to enjoy and relax – who knows if he'll even return to this club?

A man this smart looking wasn't destined for this city. This nighty might be his transit pasttime before he's off to another city, another strip club.

It will be her farewell token for him, the man with the coalblack eyes.

 

Straddling her stranger at his demand, she's not shy anymore. She presses flash against his crotch, and feels his hardening lenght so enticingly close.

Heat waves roll over her as she grinds against him in rhythm. He feels generous.

 

His dark stare fixes her to the spot as her hands explore his body through his dress shirt, while her hips never loose control over the beat. His shoulders are strong, like his posture.

Dragging her fingers across his chest, the knowledge _how_ well built he is burns her.

She can't hold on to him too close.

Instead she reaches behind, along his thighs, watching it tease him further.

She grabs his knees for balance.

 

Vegeta stares at her bare breasts as she leans back.

A small huff escapes the clammed up business man as he feels her friction against him. His already hard cock anwers every inch of movement through the fabric of his trousers with growing need.

Vegeta cannot help it, he thrusts against her, and his hands pull her down in the motion.

 

This was so much better than he'd thought, but then again, this wasn't a lapdance anymore.

This was his hands firmly on creamy warm skin, her full shapely breasts on open display for him in every movement. He thinks about touching them but his hands stay where they are as she circles on top of him.

This was her heat against him, with a tantalising sweet scented wet patch where she teasingly grinds him rockhard.

This was her viridian curls falling into her face as she watches him heavylided, her redpainted lips too close to not want to kiss – he doesn't. He's lost any straight thought.

This was electrifying.

 

 


End file.
